


Sanctum

by Feralrunaway, hauntedelation



Series: Levamentum [1]
Category: Hellraiser (Movies), Night Hunter (2018)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralrunaway/pseuds/Feralrunaway, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedelation/pseuds/hauntedelation
Summary: A multi-chapter collaboration between myself and HauntedElation.
Relationships: Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/Mike (Hellraiser)
Series: Levamentum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132322
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Sanctum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hopetohell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/gifts).



“Mike.”

“Michael...”

“MIKE!”

He jolted upright, confusion quickly taking over his half-lucid mind, a tiny bit of drool still present on his lower lip. His blurry, burning eyes strained to focus. Immediately his head began to pound. 

“Ma, what the hell?” he managed to croak out, nausea churning in his gut.

His mother pulled away but remained standing in his line of sight, a stern, immovable expression on her face. He tried to get his bearings but everything was still fuzzy. He was lying on the floor, empty bottles littering the space around him. 

“Michael, this is the last straw. I’m done. I want you out of this house.”

“What? Ma, come on! I’ll clean it up. Promis--” he cut himself short as he retched. This was going to be one hell of a hangover. 

“You can clean that up before you go. I’m already going to have to air out the space after chasing that filthy, no-good tramp out of here this morning. If you can find and keep a job long enough, you can pay me back for the money that I’m pretty sure she stole on the way out. I love you son, but unless you turn your life around, I don’t want you here. I don’t run a hotel and I’m not spending my free time cleaning up after a grown man.”

He couldn’t even be angry. The hint of tears in his mother’s eyes just made him feel worse. She didn’t deserve the burden he placed on her by being here. He couldn’t blame her for wanting him gone. He didn’t want to spend time with himself either. He was a wreck. Drowning himself in pills and drink every night. It was all he could do to escape. The only way he knew to numb his mind to the memories. Ever since--

No. 

Not even going to think about it. 

She was right though, he thought as he trudged through the motions, his throat raw and his skin prickling with the reminder of chronic dehydration. _I can’t keep on like this._

He knew he couldn’t, but he also didn’t know what else to do. His life had become a blur of escapism. He didn’t feel like a real person. Just a shell of a human. But what was a person like him supposed to do with himself after…

Enough.

\-----

Mike shivered as the cold spring wind kissed his neck. He wasn’t even walking anywhere with a purpose, simply moving around, shoes scuffing the empty sidewalk to occasionally adding percussion to his morbid thoughts. He was painfully sober and the only thing keeping him from calling a friend to remedy that was the soul-deep gnawing of guilt. Was this who he had become? A ghost? Maybe he had survived, but the demons had won if this was what his life was to be. A living hell. 

After traipsing the streets for half the day he was tired, sore, and feeling more miserable about himself than ever. He would soon need to find somewhere to sleep for the night, but he had no idea where to turn. If he called up old friends, he would simply repeat old habits. It’s what he always did. But something felt different today. Maybe it was just anger, mostly at himself, but it had the unusual stirrings of determination buried beneath it. He wanted change. He wanted to be different. He didn’t want to lose to his past...he wanted to heal.

Where could a lost, traumatized man go for rest? Where could he turn to ease his burden, if for a short while until he could figure out a new path?

He needed reprieve from his past and present alike, in a place where he didn’t feel like he had to constantly run from himself. 

He needed a sanctuary.

\-----

In the dark, he found himself still hesitating outside the doors of the large cathedral.

Could a man like him be welcome in such a place, after…

Maybe he would burn upon entering. Be smote down in front of the altar of everything less sinful than himself. Was it wrong to desire it? To hope that there may be an end to this constant fear?

With trepidation, he pulled open the large wooden doors to the sanctuary and entered, allowing the serene silence to wash over him. His footsteps echoed heavily on the old oak floorboards between the pews. He stilled when he reached the end of the rows, his view trained on the ornate windows, fabric-covered altar, and extensive statuaria. He drank in the pious sight, his lips slightly parted in awe.

He sat himself into the front pew, allowing his eyes to drop down to his hands in his lap. Well, he was seeking something different, and this place certainly was that. The silence settled heavily on his shoulders, but, oddly, he didn’t feel alone. Maybe someone was listening after all. Perhaps the contrasting entity to those that had hooked his soul into this misery in the first place.

“Uh...”

His own voice echoing in the chamber felt hollow, wrong.

“Um...I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never been in a place like this before…” he paused, feeling stupid and unsure if he should continue.

“I think I need help..” his voice cracked with shame. “I need to find a better way to live…”

He fell silent and looked around once more. No answer came from the empty, cavernous walls of the holy building. Sighing, Mike laid himself down in the pew and closed his eyes.

_Just outside the chamber, Father Walter Marshall stood listening. He had come out of his room at the sound of someone entering the sanctuary but stopped short at the echo of the lonely confession. His heart wrenched for the young man. He listened until the sound of a soft snore broke the silence, and then went out to bring the broken man a blanket._


End file.
